A/N: I really don't want to belabor this particular plot point, but I couldn't resist the addition of some Dad!Moses content. The switch to present tense in the first half is intentional to denote Moses' perspective (sorry in advance if it reads oddly).

There is an empty clatter of wagon wheels, creaking and groaning along an uneven country lane. They will have no trouble making it to York as far as he can tell; but he may have to replace that damn axle again before the return journey. Whenever that may be. He tries not to think of that. Tries not to think of the young woman and child he's left behind in Philadelphia, to fend for themselves in the wake of a British occupation.

They will be fine, he knows. Indeed many of the menfolk had fled the city, leaving behind women and children, those unfit for travel, slaves and servants alike. Still it proves difficult to nurse a rational mind in the wake of so many emotional ties; he is not immune to them, nor does he wish to be. And in thinking on emotional ties...

He casts a sideways glance at his travel partner for what must be the tenth time in the last few minutes. James had been a somber passenger for the entirety of the journey - stone-faced, quiet, bleak - and for all intents and purposes, very much not the James he knows, which had only served to increase his worry with every passing mile. They were well out of danger's way now but he doesn't think that's what's troubling the boy. Perhaps he worries over Henri and Sarah's welfare? What will become of the paper, and their city? His gaze lingers a few beats too long on the still-healing bruising around his eyes and James notices (he's noticed each time; the boy is wildly perceptive), and finally he turns his head to look at him, his gaze cautious.

"Are you well, Moses?" His voice is a hoarse crack, almost startling in the stillness that surrounds them. Moses nods slow, moving his gaze back forward. The sunlight is dancing marvelously through the early morning gray; it's set to be a beautiful Autumn day.

"Aye. Well as can be." Caesar nickers. The wheels rock and creak beneath them. Moses clears his throat. "And you?"

"Aye." He waits for more, but it seems none is forthcoming as the silence beats on. He turns again to eye him steadily, with intention this time. James' iced blue gaze remains fixed forward. "I am well, Moses."

You're a rotten liar, is what you are. Moses hums softly in his throat. "You don't seem it, son."

James' throat bobs as he swallows. "It is only...that I am...tired."

Pity overwhelms him both at the truth of the statement and all that's remaining unsaid. Since his return to Philadelphia but a few days prior, the haunted shadow that had found its way into his features had hardly abated. He was worn of both body and spirit; that much was obvious. And though James was strong - immensely so, to withstand the brutalities his short life had afforded him - that strength did not always serve him well, for how often he hid behind its veneer of impassivity. He carried a burden with him. One that was painful, one he needed to talk about.

"Penny for your thoughts?" James' head moves slowly back and forth in a stilted no but his mouth curves into an almost-imperceptible smile.

"They're not worth even that." Hm.

"We've yet a long stretch of road before us." Moses' fingers shift over the reins; he keeps his tone light. "And I can see your heart is carrying a heavy load."

"Would be hard not to," James says softly, surprising him, "in these times."

"Aye," Moses nods. A gentle breeze picks up. He dares to venture a guess. "They will be alright, you know." For a few seconds, he wonders which one of them he's trying to assure.

"They will. God save whoever's left to deal with Henri's monstrous appetite." Moses chuckles, waits for more. James' smile droops and he quietly notes the absence of Sarah from his sentiments. Perhaps...

"Sarah is no damsel in distress," he tests. "She will fare better than any of us, I think." James' cheek twitches before he smooths his expression, muttering a quiet hmm in response.

Ah, he thinks.

"In my absence, I am sure she will." He would think he was joking, were it not for the bitter tenor of his voice.

"Did you two part disagreeably?" James' fingers absently pick at a loose thread on his coat. He is all at once reminded of how often he did that very thing as a child, and always when he was uncomfortable.

"We...did." His throat clears and he sounds hesitant as he continues. "Had another fight."

He'd never say as much aloud, but he's almost certain that the tensions between them were masking something else entirely. He clicks his tongue. "What about?"

"Nothing." The response is fast, but carefully delivered as if he didn't give a single shit about it. Moses cocks an eyebrow.

"But it weighs on you?"

"Hardly," he scoffs and it's such an obvious lie, he almost laughs again. Almost.

"Fair play," Moses replies instead. The walls are up and he'll not push the matter. Still - there's more, he knows. Again he eyes the mottled flesh that spots the boy's face and the exhaustion in his gaze. "James," he says softly. He still refuses to look at him. "What ails you, lad?"

"I am tired," he says again and Moses nods, gesturing back toward the wagon.

"You can have a lie down, if you'd like. There's room enough."

"No," he says and he's ready to leave it be until his voice breaks and he continues. "No, I'm...I'm tired, Moses." His jaw works, features pinching into something decidedly sorrowful. "I do not - do not claim to know of life's greater meanings or think myself above the hardships all must endure, but -" Here he stalls and another quick glance shows the storm brewing behind his eyes. Something in Moses' heart clenches. "But I do not understand why I must...why it never gets better." He turns to look at him face on, features pained. "Am I cursed?"

"Cursed?" Moses echoes, genuinely curious. James inhales sharply.

"I must have committed some high offense before I was cognizant of it. Or perhaps I bear some familial plight that will remain forever unknown to me, given the fate of my parents."

Moses frowns. "I don't quite understand -"

"Are the sins of my past so inescapable that I will spend the rest of my life attempting absolution for them, or do I already know it to be a lost cause and so I resign myself to repulsive behaviors?" His mouth twists. "Am I such a wretched creature? Answer me true, please. You've known me long enough to know it." It takes him a moment to read between the lines, as it were; to separate the defense from the plea within.

Do I deserve what has happened to me?

"James," he says quietly. "What really happened in that camp, lad?"

The silence returns, heavy with disquiet. He has lived long enough to know that the mind, while wondrous, too often twists and harms the truth of a thing if confined too long within. To speak a thing aloud takes away its power; to share one's burden eases the load. He himself is no stranger to pain and suffering. Indeed he knows all too well the evil that lingers within the hearts of men.

And so he waits.

When James speaks again, the sound of his voice is jarring. "I was made a plaything."

"To what end?" he asks softly, grip tightening over the reins.

"None. Bearing the violence of those soldiers was a means of entertainment for them. They all thought me a coward and a spy. And they tried to..." His voice trails as his jaw tightens. But Moses would know that look in his eyes anywhere; he's seen it in his own reflection.

"They tried to kill you."

James turns his face away and the sound he makes resembles a sob. All at once he is reminded of just how...young he still is, how much he has been made to endure in the course of his eighteen years on this earth. Paternal sorrow and unbridled rage descend in equal measure inside his heart; one look at this young man was enough to showcase what he'd fallen victim to, but that brokenness in his voice went far beyond physical pain. He all at once wishes he could hit something.

But of what good is force in the absence of justice?

"They nearly did," James finally manages to say. He turns back toward him with reddened eyes and a trembling jaw, but his features remain resolute. "But you and I know it's not...not the first time."

Memory beckons and Moses resists the urge to flinch. Instead he nods, giving his apprentice a kindly clap on the shoulder. "No," he says. "It's not."

"It does make me wonder why I'm meant to survive it all, just for it to happen again and again." A bitter smile pulls at his lips. "Worst part is, they were right. I am a coward. I should have joined up when I first thought to, before I thought any better of it. I'd likely be dead now but it would have served a purpose. It would -"

"Hey now," Moses presses, frowning. "None of that, James. Do not -"

"Dead and buried and mourned but there would have been a point to it, Moses. Instead of - instead of -" He gestures oddly in front of him. "This? My life and all of my failures, continuing to hurt those I care about most?"

"James -"

"Better yet if I had died as a child," he pushes, voice warped with desperate misery. "Long before I ever made it to the print shop's door. You and Henri and Ben and Sarah, all would have been better off if you had never known me -"

Moses pulls sharply on the reins, bringing their cargo to a shuddering halt. He takes in the sight of the young man before him - in obvious distress, his eyes wide and wild in the glow of the early morning - but still he feels compelled to convey the truth of the matter to him, the depth of it. "Now you listen here," he says, voice low. "There is not a man nor woman nor child on this earth who is a stranger to some form of suffering. We are each of us destined to carry this burden until our dying day as the good Lord wills it. Some are born with such afflictions. Others may have their happiness until it is taken from them in the form of death or disease or loss. It is inescapable. It is inevitable." He leans closer toward him. "But do not think for one moment that any of it means that life is not worth living. If there is pain, then there must also be pleasure. If there is sorrow, then there must also be joy. You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that in the course of your life that there has not been some modicum of satisfaction, of happiness parceled within. And if you insist upon it, I might prevail upon the testament of a young boy who thinks the world of you. And if you still insist upon it, ask the man who sits before you, the very one who first laid eyes upon you at death's door and prayed to God that you would live to see the sunrise. Do not tell me those supplications were in vain, James. I'll not have it."

James swallows. "I meant only -"

"I know what you meant." From somewhere behind there is the gentle coo of a mourning dove; he is grateful for its soft interruption. "But hear me now. I do not know why your life has been so marked by suffering. I do not know why it endures. What I do know is that my life, and the lives of those around you, are markedly better by the simple virtue of knowing you." He lowers his voice to a gentler tone. "Sarah too."

James slowly shakes his head and his voice is thin when he speaks again. "She hates me."

"I assure you," Moses gently counters, "she does not." James watches him a moment, pensive. The fire has dissipated from his gaze and in its stead there is only sadness; longing.

"Forgive me," he says. His fingers twist in the fabric of his coat as his throat bobs. "I did not mean it." He knows that he did. From the abundance of the heart and all that. Still; he's near to overwhelmed with his own sadness for the lad and though he knows how he hates to be pitied, hates even more to be fussed over, he reaches out anyway to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders. James has never been one for any sort of physical touch, and it had only worsened after his tenure with Jonathan. And so it is with some surprise that he feels the lad relax into his touch, head bowing, allowing the briefest of embraces before he pulls back to fix his gaze on the rows of corn aside them. "We should carry on," is all he says.

And that, he knows, is all he'll offer for now. But it's enough.

Moses hums softly in the back of his throat and clicks his tongue, urging Caesar onward.

July, 1778

Perhaps, she thought, she never should have left.

She bade herself to banish the thought in the next breath as she turned about the shop, hands on hips, eyes searching and scanning every nook, every cranny. All seemed to be in order. All seemed…relatively well, all things considered.

Still her senses were pervaded by some inerrant sense of wrongness she could not quite pin down. Something was missing, perhaps? Had been taken? She swept delicate fingertips across inkwells, breath catching in her throat at the familiarity of the gesture. Even the scent of this place was set to make her cry and dear God, she needed to get ahold of herself. She'd scarcely been gone two months; previous assignments in years past had taken her away far longer than that.

Still, rang the nagging echo of her heart. Some part of you feared you might never return here.

God knows she had written, and subsequently burned, at least three letters to her mother begging a return home to England. The loneliness that had so pervaded the course of Philadelphia's occupation had been nigh to unbearable, but had been made infinitely worse when Henri had been summoned to Valley Forge at the start of the spring. For the first time in the course of her life, she had found herself really, and truly alone; though surrounded by people day in and day out, the truth was that not a single one of them would have cared if she lived or died. It had been an odd, ill-fitting chapter in the course of her time here and she had discovered with equal parts disdain and longing that she wasn't entirely sure what she was still doing here in the colonies. Not that she could have - would have - left, of course. Not after she'd made all those promises to Moses, to little Henri. Not in the midst of so much political turmoil and uncertainty.

Not when she'd left so much unfinished business with the resident apprentice.

Her heart panged again, only this time with a longing she could place, run through with a bout of nerves she had long stopped trying to smother. James was due back today and as if that weren't surreal enough, Moses had decided that today should also mark the official restart of the Gazette's operations. We will all be together again, he had noted this morning - almost blithely! - as he sipped his coffee. I can find no reason to delay. It was all just so terribly odd she could scarcely wrap her mind around it; not only how quickly her world could be torn asunder, but then how easily it could all shift right back into place. As if nothing had happened. On paper, at least. Somewhere deep down she knew things had changed, that she had changed, though pinning down exactly why or how was still eluding her. All seemed in order and yet…

Well, she was not.

"Right, could you hand me that bodkin there?" Moses' voice pulled her from her musings, pulling a quiet oh from her lips.

"Of course." Mechanically she fulfilled his request, passing the tool over as her eyes moved to the window. Perhaps it was the dust? She'd always tried to keep this place in top form. The state of uncleanliness spoke of the absence of a caring hand, and the accumulation of dust served to remind of a noted and prolonged absence.

"Are you alright? You've been awfully quiet." She turned back to her friend, swallowing thickly. Moses had such a perceptive gaze, she sometimes swore he knew her thoughts.

"Just a bit distracted, I suppose." She gestured around them vaguely. "It feels as if so much has changed, and yet standing here...I can find nothing truly out of place."

"It is good to see the shop in good repair," he replied, gaze thoughtful. "Upon our return last week, I was uncertain how they would have left it."

"Not all of the soldiers are brutes, you know." She accompanied the wry remark with a smile but found her heart wasn't in it.

"Nor all the British." Moses offered a wink as he straightened over the press, fingers idly tapping the sides. "All jokes aside, we do owe you a debt of gratitude, Sarah. Your presence here undoubtedly marked the difference between a simple occupation and the destruction of the shop."

"It wasn't as serious as all that." Still - it was hard to look him in the eye, suddenly. She made herself busy by arranging the tiles that were still lying in perfect arrangement - just as she'd left them the last time she'd -

"It was to us." She could feel his eyes on her. Gently, as was his way, he had tried to get her to speak of her time alone here. And she, in her own way, had gently refused. She no longer wanted to lend energy toward the last nine months and indeed! All that had preceded it. It had been fraught with enough uncertainty; she longed for a brighter, more stable future.

"Nevertheless." She finished her pointless arranging and turned to face him, lips pulled into a too-tight smile. "We are all here now. And all is well."

"Well…not quite." Some mischievous sparkle pulled over his features. "By my count we are missing two members."

"But they are set to return any…" She cleared her throat and good God above, yes, she was going to have to get ahold of herself..! "…any time now."

"Nervous?" The question surprised her. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, forcing a chuckle.

"Why would I be nervous?"

"No reason, of course. It is only that you seem a bit…unsettled."

Before she realized she was doing it, her eyes moved to the place James had been standing that last day, that dreadful day, when she'd spoken what her heart did not mean. "It is only that it's…" She cleared her throat again, wiping anxious hands down her apron. "It is only that it has been so long is all." Long indeed. The day of reckoning was here and yet somehow, she felt entirely unprepared for it. What would he do when he saw her again? Ignore her? Yell? Or would time have managed to assuage his harsher feelings?

"Well," Moses said, his eyes moving past her and to the print shop window. "You haven't much longer to wait." She paused, following his gaze to spot the sudden dapple of sunlight disrupted by a rider outside. But of course she knew who it was before she'd even spotted him.

James.

The bundle of nerves, so effectively silenced, now unwound without pretense in the pit of her belly. There was a ringing in her ears, a tightness in her throat, and a clamor of emotions forcing themselves in where they did not belong - still she could not tear her gaze away from him, from James bloody Hiller just there, just outside the glass. Months and months of anguish threatened to spill over into cowardice; for a fleeting moment she thought she ought to fake illness if only to give herself more time to prepare.

And then Henri said something to make him laugh.

The sound carried through the walls and lodged itself inside her throat, burrowing deep into memory. It had been ages since she'd heard that laugh. Longer still since she'd laid eyes on the man from whence it came. "Could you..." she found herself saying. She looked to Moses, bracing herself for all to come. "Could you give me a moment to say hello?"

"Of course." Moses's smile was kind, knowing, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling. "I'll go…ready the stable."

"A splendid idea." She turned her gaze forward and distantly made note of Moses' departing footsteps as she moved to the door. Took hold of its handle. Shoved against the wood until it gave and stepped out into the warmth of the day, all at once keenly aware of the rapid pulse beating in her neck. Right, she told herself as she stepped fully into view. You've waited for this for nearly a year. Mind your tongue and just be kind.

And then he looked at her.

She swore that everything all at once ceased around her. There was no distant clatter of wagon wheels, no other passerby, nor even the presence of their junior apprentice. There existed only James.

And he was looking at her.

In the stillness she allowed herself to do the same. He looks different, she thought. Older somehow. Taller, to be sure. But most of all and perhaps most staggeringly he looked strong: broad-shouldered and healthy and well, just like the James she had known all along and not the one who had left her. He looks like a man, her mind finally settled on.

A very handsome man.

A slow flush crept up her neck at the thought. Still his gaze never wavered and though she could not read his masked expression, the lack of any hostility within it gave her something to anchor her hope to. "Henri," he finally said, passing over the reins. "Take Caesar to the stable."

Their protégé had the good sense not to argue. Instead he snickered, muttered out a "Yes sir," then grabbed hold of the reins to lead the horse and wagon around back. James straightened as he made his way toward her, his features still unnervingly unreadable; and she too watched, swallowing against a lump in her throat as he reached up to remove his hat. The silence lingered one, two, three beats. She began to speak at the same moment he did.

"It is good to -"

"Sarah, it's been -"

"Please," she smiled, gesturing toward him as his mouth snapped shut. "You first." The briefest of glimmers danced through his eyes before he smoothed his expression again. He motioned toward her, hat in hand.

"You look well." She ran an anxious hand down the front of her bodice.

"As do you."

"How have you...ehm..." He cleared his throat, brows dipping into a subtle frown. "How have you fared these last long months?"

Not well, she longed to say. I have never been so lonesome in all my life. But he surely wouldn't want to hear that. She instead allowed a practiced propriety to guide her response. "It was a venture of its own sort. A bit lonely, to be certain." He raised an eyebrow that seemed to be asking for more and she all at once felt terribly self-conscious. "But also...familiar. To be among the English. Among the - soldiers. I...it was a relief - I felt as if I were back in London." Inwardly, she cringed at the sloppy stumble of her words. Outwardly, she clasped her hands in front of her and studied him, studying her.

And then he smiled.

He smiled, the sight of which was so achingly familiar that she nearly burst into tears even as her own lips mirrored the motion. Good God, how she had missed that smile! How she had feared it might never be directed toward her ever again! He shook his head, chuckling softly.

"Now there's a lie if ever I heard one."

"I...beg your pardon?" Some odd relief was quickening her heart again as he stepped nearer, fingers absently tapping over the brim of his hat. "How do you figure that, Mr. Hiller?"

"It may have been a long while since we have been in each other's company," he said, voice low with a faux conspiratorial tone, "but I still know you, Ms. Phillips. And besides, I read all of your dispatches. No one would enjoy bearing the burden of social etiquettes, sipping punch and dancing reels, while the people of this city starved outside their door." He paused a moment, his smile dropping slightly. "Especially not you." Another silence fell between them as his features grew more solemn. "Sarah," he finally said. "Sarah, I am so sorry."

"Oh James," she murmured, shaking her head. "Don't - please, don't. I am the one who should -"

"No. It's - it's more than...all of that." His gaze softened along with his voice and it suddenly felt that much more difficult to breathe. "I wanted to write you. Truly, I did. But I couldn't, rather, it was near to impossible. Mail in and out of the city was risky at best, and supplies were limited. The few dispatches Moses was able to send came at a high price. I did not -"

"It's alright, James." She smiled, shoulders raising in a small shrug. "After all, I did not write you either." The memory of their parting came swiftly, unwanted, for what must have been the thousandth time since the previous fall. Loathe as she was to think on it, it seemed too difficult to leave it unaddressed. "Truth be told, I was...too afraid." She swallowed, casting her gaze aside. "I thought you would not want to hear from me."

"I always want to hear from you." The sincerity in the statement bolstered something in her, indeed gave her the confidence to meet his eye again. And there it was: that gentleness, that kindness in his gaze that she unwittingly had come to rely on over the course of the years. The look that seemed to say I see you, that held within it the sort of familiarity that stood in such staggering contrast to the empty glances of her cohorts over the course of the winter. "I hated how we parted," he continued softly. "To have...left you as I did. With such anger. I -"

"With such cruelty in the way that I spoke to you." Tears burned as she knit her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, adamant that she should strike at the heart of the thing. "I did not mean it, James. I swear to you, I did not mean it."

"I know," he whispered. "Sarah, I know."

"Do you? Truly?" Oh but how sad he suddenly looked. James, she longed to cry. Dear, dear James. How easy it was to forget the longstanding wound of a hurtful word in the fleeting moment of its utterance; and somehow easier still to resurrect that hurt upon its recollection. "I have thought of little else but making amends with you. Should you desire it," she said into the quiet. "I am sorry, James." She swallowed the burn of shame crawling up her throat, mustering the courage to continue. "Indeed your forgiveness, in this moment, is all that...all that truly matters to me."

A gentle breeze scattered a few stray pieces of hair across his brow as his gaze moved to the ground. For a few, terse seconds nothing beyond the steady beating of her own heart met her ears; at least until a smile crept upon his features once more and he quietly, almost shyly, murmured, "I have already forgiven you, Sarah." Blue eyes rose to meet her own. "Truth be told, there's...nothing I would not forgive you for."

"James," she whispered.

"My own conduct has often been less than gentlemanly. For all that happened in New York, I believe that a part of me knew better but I was still...in so much pain. I had not slept well in weeks. I say this not to excuse or to justify my behavior - only to explain." He spoke in a rush of words. "For all that I said to you, Sarah...I am sorry. Sorrier still for how I left you as I did. And over something so...stupid." He inhaled slowly, tone growing more somber. "Henri tells me that General Arnold is to be Military Commandant of Philadelphia."

"Well..." Bewildered, she sought clarity amid the sudden change in topic. "Yes. I -"

"Wait. Wait, please, I must say this to you." The breath escaped his lungs in a firm exhale as he fixed her with a steady gaze. "Despite my previous assertions, I want you to know that I care for you. Very much. And in light of such, I want nothing more than for you to be happy, and cared for, no matter what path you choose in this life. And if General Arnold is the one who can give you that happiness...then I am happy for you. And..." He paused, offering her another smile. "And you have my unwavering support."

For a few moments, confusion prevailed above and beyond all previous heartfelt sentiments. Support? she nearly said. In what? He watched her steadily, wild blue eyes searching, prodding, awaiting response; she maintained his gaze, mind abuzz, until the crooked pieces of his meaning finally came together.

"James," she said slowly, fighting a smile with a faux cough into her hand. "James, are you - under the impression that Benedict and I are engaged in a romantic affair?"

"Well, I...yes." He gestured vaguely around him. "Henri said that you have been in correspondence - that his impending arrival in Philadelphia was not yet well known but that he informed you, and...well after the last we spoke of it, I thought..." Oh, trilled that quiet voice within her, all at once heady with understanding. Oh. God save her, it all made sense now! What an idiot she'd been...!

"He wrote me a letter," she gently laughed, "simply to inform me of his designation, and only because of my connection to the Gazette. I assure you, there is no romance between us, nor has there ever been. General Arnold is a father figure to me only."

James looked, for all intents and purposes, like she had just sprouted a second head. Behind the wild of those startling blue eyes she could see the wheels of potential response turning - of that quick-witted intelligence he did not seem to know he had - ponderous and sad, curious but guarded. Yet all he muttered was a quiet oh as the corners of his mouth tipped into an embarrassed smile. There was something soft in the expression she could not quite seem to measure. "Well." He cleared his throat and chuckled again. "I would ask you to banish the memory of this exchange but..." He raised his shoulders in a playful shrug. "Fortunately for me, you already know me to me a doddering idiot."

"Hardly, Mr. Hiller." Laughter pulled at her chest, along with something else. And for the first time in a long time, she bade it entry. "Come here." His expression changed at the request; first with confusion, but then as his gaze wandered toward her outstretched arms, it was quickly overcome with what she could only classify as relief. He paused only to toss his hat aside and then he was moving forward, capturing her in his arms as if this was farewell instead of welcome home. She did not have to think or plot or plan; she merely melted into his embrace, arms wrapping around his neck, as his own snaked around her waist and then her back, pulling her flush against his body. "I have missed you, James," she whispered, throat tight. He angled his face against her neck; dimly she wondered if he could make out the staggering pulse of her heart, right where his cheek was resting.

"I missed you too," he murmured, breath tickling warm upon bare skin. "So much. So very, very much..."

Odd, she thought, for how all pretense of strength could stand fast in the face of fear and uncertainty, yet crumble to bits beneath a gentle word. The relief of his forgiveness and the joy of his return were simultaneously too much to bear, and the tears started before she even thought to stop them. James stood as a pillar and did not chide or mock; he simply held her close, murmuring over and over its alright, Sarah, its alright, and for the first time in months she finally allowed herself to believe it true.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there like that; only that once they parted it still felt entirely too soon. She offered a watery laugh, wiping at still-wet eyes. "I do not know why I am crying," she said in way of explanation. But James' eyes were warm, and his hands even more so as he reached out to slowly - tenderly - wipe the rest of her tears away.

"A reprieve for the soul," he said. "Or something of the like. But never you worry, Ms. Phillips; you'll not find a judgement in me for it."

"James." His hands stilled before slowly dropping from her face, but she took a careful hold of his fingers before his touch left her completely. "I am...so glad that you are back."

"Truly?" His fingers moved gently between her own but there they paused, just shy of intertwining.

"Truly." She let out a shuddered breath, near to overcome at his closeness. Some part of her feared this was nothing but a dream and she would soon awaken to an empty house and the ache of a guilty conscience. Rattled by the thought, she spoke before she thought any better of it. "Please do not...do not leave me again."

"Never," came the soft reply. He looked to their almost-intertwined hands before carefully placing his other on top of hers. "Although I've made that promise to you before and I'd no choice but to break it." Still. He was here. Safe and whole and alive and very nearly holding her hand, sending those same electric sparks racing up her arm. If she leaned in, just a little, perhaps he would close the distance and kiss her. The imagery sent a pleasant tingle through her belly, soon followed by the sting of embarrassment. After all of this, and still she allowed herself these silly daydreams! He wouldn't dream of kissing her!

"War makes a perjurer of us all," she said instead. He inhaled softly. Nodded.

"Could we..." He regarded her with a gentle gaze, brow creasing. "Could we put it all behind us? Start anew?"

"Of course." Her own hold on his hands tightened, squeezing them for good measure. "Of course we can."

"Right. Well..." Mischief alighted upon his features. "Good evening to you, ma'am. The name's James Hiller." A laugh bubbled up her throat as his expression went serious and he offered a curt nod. "'tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Hiller," she said, curtsying as best she could with their hands still touching so. "Sarah Phillips, at your service."

"Sarah. What a lovely name." A small gust of wind sent his hair flying and she swallowed another giggle. "I sure hope you're not the sort who's inclined to violence upon a first meeting."

"I've plenty of books and pillowcases inside," she whispered, unable to restrain the grin pulling at her lips. "But rest assured, I reserve their usage only for the rebel yankees who see fit to revolt against our beloved King George."

"Oh, don't tell me." His eyes wandered down her face with an alarmingly convincing air of disappointment. "You're a bleedin' Tory."

"I am British, actually."

"Same difference."

"Impertinent colonist."

"Toffee-nosed deb."

She couldn't help but laugh. "You know something, Mr. Hiller?"

"Hm?" Oh, but he was close. When had he gotten so close? She forced herself to steady, inhaling slowly through her nose, though her heart remained intent in its rapid pulse.

"I do believe...that..." He smiled again. Lord, but he did have such a lovely smile.

"Yes?"

"That the wind is..." She nodded her head sideways. "Taking your hat." His head turned in her indicated direction.

"Shit. I do believe you're right." He squeezed her hands tightly before letting go to offer a brisk salute. "Apologies for my vulgarity, miss."

"None needed," she called softly after him, laughing as he gave chase to the headwear now skittering halfway down the street. It didn't seem possible, nor even deserved on her part, to make such an easy return to what the two of them had been before. And as she watched him - laughing, exaggeratingly knocking rubble from the brim of his hat as he scooped it from the dirt - she could not shake the weight of déjà vu, of that sinking remembrance of how easily this could be taken away from her. To see him well again was a blessing she would not take for granted. It was one she would need to protect. One she would need to gird herself against, lest her mouth - or God forbid, her heart - get the best of her again.

The war still raged on, after all. And she would not let it make a perjurer of her.

Still. Such things were easier said than done where a Mr. James Hiller was concerned. Life's newest chapter bade her a return to a world set to rights again, or as close as it could be in a city still reeling from the effects of her countrymen's occupation. Inflation surged, straining already-slim resources. Newspaper sales plummeted; supplies were hard to come by. More and more it felt as if she and her friends were merely waiting for the other shoe to drop; for some new, untold horror to present itself on their doorstep.

But as the weeks turned over into months, she found many of her fears waylaid in the comfort of James' companionship. In so many ways they did start anew; gone was the strange bitterness that had so impeded the course of their friendship. In its place was something kinder, sweeter, yet still within it held all of the foundations of what had originally bonded them. On occasion she would snip at him over comments excessively extreme. He would chide her in return, always adamant in his stance, until Moses told them off or they both managed to right themselves and descend into fits of laughter. It was all gentler to her in ways she couldn't pin down, nor did she feel the need to. Like on those days where she noted a tremor in his hands that never seemed to entirely go away and she would wordlessly place her hand over his. Or when he would offer her the listening ear she needed in those moments where the ache of missing her parents felt rather like someone had cut her heart right out of her. It was undeniably different and inexplicably the same.

It was, she would admit only to herself, the sweet beginnings of a romance.

And if it had not been for the letter from her mother that arrived on a cold December's day, perhaps it all could have continued to blossom into something more.

Dearest Sarah,

I write you with a most anxious heart. The end of this year will mark the six-year anniversary since I have heard from your father, and I am beginning to fear the worst...

I'm sorry this update took forever and a day. To those who have continued to read/review/wait so patiently...you are the wind beneath my wings.

The only real note I have is that this chapter briefly references the episode Honor and Compromise. Therein, Sarah and Moses witness the ratification of the Articles of Confederation in York while James and Henri are chilling in Valley Forge. My headcanon is that Sarah is summoned out of Philadelphia by Moses, reconnects with him in York, and then they return to Philadelphia by the middle point of this chapter. All that to say, that's why I didn't bother with their reuniting - we had to get to the dramaaaaaa. More to come. :D